


a lesson in communication

by mindthekat



Series: an exercise in growth [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew Minyard Has Feelings, Andrew is graduating and everyone is having a crisis, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M, Misunderstandings, Neil doesn't know how to talk about his feelings, POV Andrew Minyard, Post-Canon, happy ending?????, idk wait and see I guess!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29189694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindthekat/pseuds/mindthekat
Summary: To the untrained eye, Neil Josten would seem entirely normal, albeit a little more tightly wound than usual.Andrew Minyard's eye is not untrained.Alternatively: Neil never thought he would live long enough to want a future and Andrew can't find the words to reassure him.[Rated E for evental smut]
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: an exercise in growth [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719280
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	a lesson in communication

**Author's Note:**

> this is part of an ongoing series but can be read as a stand alone!

To the untrained eye, Neil Josten would seem entirely normal, albeit a little more tightly wound than usual. 

**Andrew’s eye is not untrained.**

As he sends back another practice shot, his arms straining with exhaustion, he can feel the waves of tension rolling off of Neil. The court is empty, save for the two of them. Kevin exhausted himself hours ago and it’s nearing dawn but they’ve been out here since midnight and Neil is firing shots on goal like his arms are made of iron. From his place in the goal, Andrew can see Neil’s tells. It’s in the shake of his bicep right before he fires another shot. The tension that he holds in his shoulder blades, seemingly the only thing keeping him upright. 

Andrew steps aside, the goal lighting up red behind him. 

“We’re done.” He says, level and cool. 

To the untrained eye, Andrew Minyard would seem calm and collected. 

**Neil’s eye is not untrained.**

He sees Andrew’s calm for what it is, the calm before a storm. He’s barely holding a leash on his frustration and this standoff is days in the making. 

Neil has been running the team ragged for the better part of a week, far beyond what’s reasonable, and they’re going to be down a few freshmen by the time they even hit playoffs if his temper tantrum continues. It’s not that Andrew cares about the team or this stupid sport to begin with but Neil has been withdrawn, even to Andrew, and volatile to the point of excess. 

Andrew can see Neil’s chest heaving, can see the taut line of his neck where he holds all of his tension.

“I’m not finished.” Neil spits out, pointing his racquet at the goal as if to say  _ let’s go again _ . 

“Neil.” Andrew says, level as ever. “I said we’re done.” 

“Andrew,” Neil starts between sharp intakes of breath. 

“I said no.” 

Sharp blue meets warm hazel and for a moment, Andrew wonders if Neil will push it. His suspicion runs bone deep and for as much as he trusts Neil, he distrusts him equally still.  _ Once a runner, always a runner _ , the voice in his head whispers. And  _ oh _ that’s it, isn’t it? It’s not just Neil’s attitude or his overdone demands that are pressing firmly on Andrew’s pressure point. It’s the way his eyes have started darting around the room looking for exits again. It’s the way his pulse quickens in the early hours of the morning. It’s the way his runs seem to take longer these days. 

As they stare at one another from a few paces away from one another, it dawns on Andrew, the reason for his irritation. 

Neil wants to run. Neil wants to run and Andrew doesn’t know why. He knows Neil down to the taste of his tongue and the sound of his breath. He could identify him with his eyes closed, by scars alone and yet he can’t seem to work out the puzzle that is Neil’s mind lately. 

And if he isn’t talking to Andrew, he isn’t talking to anyone and Andrew knows first-hand what happens when Neil starts keeping secrets. 

Before he can help it he’s remembering garbage bags taped to skin, burns from a dashboard lighter littering Neils skin, a threat of never walking again. Nausea rolls through him at the thought of Neil getting mutilated again. 

He moves to step towards Neil but is too late as Neil kicks a spare ball towards the plexiglass wall and storms off the court. 

There is a war brewing inside of Andrew, tearing him between concern and agitation. He doesn’t bother cleaning up the balls from practice and doesn’t bother following Neil to the locker room, opting to meet him at the Maserati instead. He rolls a cigarette between his fingertips as the early morning breeze dries the sweat from the back of his neck. He will need a shower back at the dorms but he needs a minute alone more than that. 

**Neil is hiding something.**

Neil is hiding something and that could mean another knife-wielding psychopath out to get him or it could mean he’s victim to his own thoughts but there’s no in between. There are things Andrew can control and he’s long given up on the idea that Neil Josten is one of them but he can’t  _ fix _ it until he knows what’s wrong. If it’s just Neil being self deprecating he can handle that but he can’t handle another Baltimore. He can’t even stomach the memory that still feels as fresh as it did 3 years ago. 

He’s reconciled with himself that putting Neil back together again is something he will do time and time again but it doesn’t make the anticipation any easier. 

He takes a drag from his cigarette, holding it in his lungs just long enough to feel it burn, and blows a cloud of smoke just as Neil emerges from the stadium, locking up behind him. Andrew leans against the hood of the car, torn between wanting Neils lip between his teeth and wanting to push him out a window. 

In that regard, not much has changed over the last three years. 

If he were not focused so heavily on the shape of Neil’s body, he might miss the way Neil shifts to the left momentarily, towards Fox Tower, as if he would rather walk than approach Andrew. 

“Rabbit.” Andrew calls before he can think better of it. Neil startles, having not seen Andrew watching him. “I thought you wanted to be a real boy.” Andrew quips when Neil comes close enough to hear him. 

“Fuck you.” Neil bites, though there’s no heat to it. If anything, it seems the exhaustion he’s been forcing onto everyone else is finally catching up with him. 

“Boring.” Andrew fires back, voice deceivingly flat. “Talk.” He says, tapping two fingertips to the hood of the car next to him. Neil takes the cue to lean next to him against the Maserati, though he leaves enough space between them that Andrew wouldn’t be able to reach out and touch him if he tried. 

“I thought I already talk too much.” Neil says under his breath and it’s so pathetic that Andrew wants to kiss the words back into his mouth. 

“Pouting isn’t attractive on you, Josten.” 

Neil doesn’t even mouth off in return. His head hangs between his shoulders and he looks every bit like the broken boy that he really is, all of his edges showing. If Andrew didn’t know any better, he would think he was nineteen again, trying to pull truths out of a liar and taunting ravens out of their cages. 

All of a sudden, Neil looks like the seventeen year old they dragged out of Millport, sans colored contacts and a cheap dye job. His edges feel raw in a way that they haven’t since that shitty motel floor with Andrew’s hands holding his face like it was built of glass. He’s tracing the scars on his knuckles like they’re still raw. They’ve faded a bit over the years but Andrew knows Neil feels phantom burns every once in a while. He knows when Neil wakes up panting or screaming that he feels the dashboard lighter fresh on his skin. He knows when Neil is rubbing out his calf muscles that he’s thinking about how he was moments from never walking again. If Andrew were any less observant he might miss the way Neil stares at the court sometimes as if it’s a miracle. He isn’t. He notices the way Neil sucks in a deep breath before they walk on. Some days Andrew doesn’t know if he’s remembering The Nest or if he’s imagining the shell of a life he would have had if his father severed his achilles tendon like he intended to. 

If Riko weren’t already three years dead, Andrew would put a knife through his skull. 

The thought should sober him but it doesn’t. Not anymore. 

He turns to face Neil and finds a pool of blue staring right back at him. If not for his near perfect recollection, he might not remember the muddy brown contacts Neil used to wear to shield him from himself. 

With the earliest hints of sunrise washing over the planes of Neil’s face, Andrew finds himself unable to look anywhere else. It’s no secret that Neil Josten is attractive. His hair curls around his cheekbones, long overdue for a trim now that Allison is in New York full time. The bridge of his nose is still sprinkled with the occasional freckle that hasn’t faded from summer. His mouth is full and soft, despite refusing to wear chapstick. But his eyes are devastating. Nearly four years later and Andrew still stumbles over his own breath when his gaze meets Neil’s. 

All the fire from earlier is gone, some of Neil’s sharper edges softened with the pink morning glow. His gaze is soft and vulnerable and entirely too raw for Andrew to process. 

“I’m not your answer..” He says, even as Neil leans towards him. 

“Yes or no, Drew?” Neil breathes. 

Andrew should say no, should pry whatever is bugging Neil out of him. He should poke and prod until Neil unravels before him and lets him in on whatever is pushing him to run their team into the ground. He should make Neil talk but he can feel Neil’s breath ghosting over his face and it’s been days since he’s had Neils mouth under his so he whispers  _ yes _ as he catches Neil’s lower lip between his teeth. 

With the parking lot empty and the dawn rising lazily, Andrew takes Neil apart with his mouth slowly against the hood of his car until both of their edges start to soften once more. When he finally pulls away and the soft morning sunlight dances across Neil’s face, a warm feeling spreads through Andrew’s chest, swirling into a four letter word that’s been on the top of his tongue lately. With graduation approaching and the future looming over him, he won’t allow that word to make it past his lips. Words are meaningless and more often than not, they’re temporary. 

What Andrew feels for Neil is not temporary. He’s tried to absolve himself of the rabbit more times than he can count but deep in his bones Andrew knows that Neil is it for him. 

The realization came a week before the start of the semester. They were visiting Allison and Renee in New York for New Year’s and there wasn’t some picture perfect moment where everything slid into place. They were watching the ball drop from the balcony of Allison’s overpriced apartment and when the clock struck midnight, Neil turned to Andrew and instead of kissing him into the new year he said “Did you know that the ball drop started because of a ban on fireworks?” and Andrew’s world tilted on its axis for no reason other than the fact that it suddenly struck him that he might not hate bringing in every new year with Neil. 

He has that same disorienting feeling now as he traces the scars on Neil’s face with his gaze. Neil is mouthy and his edges are sharp but Andrew chooses him because of these things, not in spite of them. For so long, Andrew has wondered if it’s possible for him to keep this, Neil, because men like him shouldn’t get to keep things. He’s learned from a young age that  _ wanting _ is the worst thing he could do. But he doesn’t think there’s another human being in the world who could possibly fit him the way Neil does. 

When they eventually make it back to Fox Tower, Andrew showers and crawls over Neil to fit himself into the space between the wall and the boy in his bed. It’s still a bad day. He knows this and Neil knows this and as the sun filters through the window across the room, he crosses an ankle over one of Neil’s and watches as the tension bleeds from Neil’s body, inch for inch. He watches the slope of his shoulders drop and his spine loosen before he hears his breath even out. 

_ Tomorrow _ , he thinks as he drifts off. Tomorrow he will pull the truth out of Neil. 

When he wakes, Neil is gone and the bed is cold beside him. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think so far!


End file.
